That evening, Jane decided to bring something when visiting Mrs. Watsonville. She figured fruit would be nice—simple, thoughtful. So she headed toward the small fruit stall she saw earlier that day.
As she walked through the village, she noticed something odd.
People were... looking at her.
Not in a rude way. But their eyes followed her for a few seconds too long. A man who had been unloading a cart paused. A pair of kids whispered to each other as she passed. Jane started to feel her chest tighten a little.
Do they recognize me?Did someone send word from House of Ardent?
Her fingers curled slightly around the cloth of her dress as her steps grew quicker. She told herself not to panic. It's a different town. No one here should know who she is.
When she finally reached the fruit stall, the vendor—a middle-aged man with smile lines and a sunburned nose—looked up from arranging apples.
His eyes immediately locked onto hers.
"Is that your natural eye color?" he asked, clearly fascinated.
Jane froze for a second.Oh. Of course. My eyes.
She had completely forgotten. Her violet eyes, glowing ever so faintly, were probably beautiful… but definitely not normal around here.
She smiled quickly and nodded, "Oh—no, I mean, yes—uh, they're contact lenses. For a dinner tonight. Fancy dinner look, you know?" she added, hoping that sounded casual enough.
The vendor blinked, then chuckled. "Well, they're stunning. Never seen a color like that. Very magical-looking."
Jane's heart skipped a beat.Yeah, because they are magical.
But she just laughed along. "Thanks. Just trying something new."
The vendor smiled warmly and handed Jane a small paper bag filled with apples, pears, and one perfectly round peach.
"On the house," he said with a wink. "For the prettiest eyes I've seen all year."
Jane blinked in surprise. "Wait—really? That's so kind of you!"
He waved it off. "Just promise me you'll come back again. Those contacts are magical."
Jane laughed nervously and nodded. "Sure… I will."
As she walked away from the fruit stall, she could feel a few more stares. People passing by looked at her just a second too long, their eyes lingering on her face.
It made her stomach twist a little.She didn't like being the center of attention—especially not when people started thinking about magic.
So, she reached up casually, brushing her fingers over her eyelids, and whispered a tiny spell under her breath. Just enough to dim the glow in her eyes—make the purple softer, less radiant. Still violet, but… normal-ish.
There. That's better. Hopefully.
She tugged her dress and continued walking toward Mrs. Watsonville's house.
_____
Jane knocked gently on the wooden door, and almost instantly, it swung open.
"Ah, there you are, dear!" Mrs. Watsonville beamed, wearing a floral apron and smelling like fresh rosemary and baked pie. "Come in, come in! Dinner's just getting warm."
Jane stepped inside, greeted by the cozy scent of stew, buttered bread, and a little fireplace crackling in the corner. The house felt lived-in—soft, welcoming, and a little messy in a way that made it feel real.
They sat at the table, where two steaming bowls were already waiting.
"So," Mrs. Watsonville said as she poured tea into chipped ceramic mugs, "tell me about yourself, Jane. You live alone?"
Jane nodded slowly, choosing her words. "Yeah… it's just me now. My parents are… gone. They left me a bit of money. Just enough to buy that old house."
The old woman gave a sympathetic sigh. "You poor thing. That house's been empty for years."
Jane managed a small smile. "It's not much, but it's mine now. I've been fixing it up."
"Well, you're very brave, darling. And clever too," she said, scooping stew into Jane's bowl. "If you ever need anything—anything at all—you come to me, alright?"
Jane looked down at the warm meal, her heart softening at the simple kindness.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "Really."
After dinner, they moved to the living room. Mrs. Watsonville handed Jane a warm blanket and a slice of berry pie.
"You know," she said, settling into her armchair, "I've been running the village café by myself ever since my husband passed. It's a small place, just a few tables and a lot of regulars, but I could use an extra hand."
Jane blinked. "You mean… you're offering me a job?"
Mrs. Watsonville smiled, her eyes kind. "If you're interested. It's nothing fancy, just serving food, clearing tables, chatting with people. But it's honest work, and the pay's enough to keep your cupboards full."
Jane couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. After everything, this felt… right. Simple, normal, and warm.
"I'd love to," she said. "Really. Thank you."
"Well then," Mrs. Watsonville said with a wink, "you better wear those pretty green shoes. The customers love a bit of charm."
They both laughed, and for the first time in a long time, Jane felt something close to peace.
"And, dear," she said gently, "if you ever need help fixing up that place of yours—windows, paint, whatever—I can lend you some money. Just until you get settled. No pressure."
Jane's eyes softened. The offer was kind, and the tone wasn't pitying—just… caring.
"Thank you, really," Jane replied with a small smile. "But I think I've still got enough to get the essentials. You've already helped me so much."
Mrs. Watsonville nodded, not pushing further. "Alright. But if you ever need anything, my door's always open."
Later that evening, Jane walked back to her little house under the dim glow of lantern lights. When she stood in front of it, she stared for a long time.
The house didn't scream "luxury," but with the windows fixed and the paint still fresh, it looked a little… too nice for someone claiming to be alone and poor.
Jane raised her hand and murmured a small spell—just enough to dull the color of the paint, smudge the windowpanes a bit, and fade the brightness of the lights. From the outside, the house looked more worn again, though still safe and cozy.
So the next afternoon, that's how everyone saw her house.
It was better this way. The less attention she got, the better.